30 April 2012

Going to do the tourist thing today and drive over to Guanajuato, the state capitol. Look around. Perhaps take some photographs. In the meantime here my essay that generated 50 comments over at the Open Salon blog:

In the United States we recently crossed some demographic line relating to the number of people who live alone. I was holding forth on this to a lady friend recently and got the numbers perfectly wrong. Let me simply quote Nathan Heller:

Today, more than fifty per cent of U.S. residents are single, nearly a third of households have just one resident . . . .

16 April 2012

There is more than just my patio around here. There is, for example, the beautiful patio of Michel Pellerin and Ginette Bernard at their newly remodeled home out on the edge of town, on which I sat late this afternoon. By the way, they are not shacked up out there. They have been legally wed for decades.

13 April 2012

I
like nothing more in the world than sitting on my ass doing nothing.
And it's not my fault I have this attitude, because I happen to have
an amazingly comfortable ass. It may not look like much, but if you
could sit on this baby for two minutes, you'd realize that getting
off this ass would be a crime against nature.--Lori
Chapman

11 April 2012

This is Fortino. He washes cars at
curbside down the street. That is how I first met him. He washes the
truck. I have written about him and his family many times previously
here and in the other blog, once being the occasion of the memorable goat banquet.

10 April 2012

Rick and I left in the pickup for the little
international airport in Leon just after 4:00 this morning in
the dead of night. It is about an hour and a half drive there in the
dark. We did not hit any goats or cows.

09 April 2012

Just a bit of trivia concerning Mauricio Magaña, the gentleman with whom Rick and I rode out of 3 Señores stables. He is 33 years old and was born here in San Miguel de Allende to a landed family. A great animal lover. In addition to rescuing horses, he rescues dogs, which must be a daunting task in Mexico. But the guy cannot help himself. In fact a couple of times while we were riding, he spoke with villagers about their dogs a how they were treating them.

This poster relates to the Mexican Revolution of 1910, which lasted about ten years. Exactly 100 years ago in other words. It has become a subject of fascination for me and, now to some extent, for Rick, too. We have had some discussions as whether or not, had we been around and had the chance, we would have signed on to ride with Pancho Villa. This involves deciding whether we could have best passed ourselves off as dynamiters or machine gunners or railroaders. A lot of things to chew over there.

02 April 2012

Same old tune, but the Mexican gals keep asking for it. So what are you going to do? They cannot understand a word of course. But then again, I keep asking for Mexican tunes the words to which I do not entirely understand either.

01 April 2012

Plaza San Antonio is our plaza in our neighborhood, colonia San Antonio. It is a half a block up from the gate into my apartment complex. It did not dawn on either Rick or me when we arose this morning that this is Palm Sunday. We had intended to attend mass anyway but were thrown off by the switch to Daylight Savings Time here last night. So that was all out the window right away.

Born head first in the year 1947 during the month of March on the br>Gregorian Calendar and not dead yet. ¡Viva México!

To Contact Me

It has not been in the nature of the visitors to this blog to comment publicly on it. A visitor may wish to contact me privately to take issue with something that I have written, to offer a correction to something that I have written, or simply to send me general purpose hate mail. Visitors can contact me by email at brassawe@brassawe.com.

Many of the earlier blog entries herein where composed and posted during my five-year residency in México from 2008 to 2013. I have since taken up residence on the family farm in rural Paris, Iowa, U.S.A., which I inherited in the interim. I am now a member of the local landed gentry.